Exactly how deep does he intend for these psychological attacks to go?
Replacing the package, he zips everything up and holds my gaze. “Maybe…” he murmurs, “…never tell me I don’t know anything about you again.”
I gulp.
He lifts his chin, toward the ordeal that is this theme park, and says, “Shall we?”
So we do. For a morning. And an afternoon. And the start of an evening. No disaster befalls him as he lysols every surface I need to touch, coerces me onto dreadful rides, forces me to take pictures with him, and just overall unsettles me with howkindlyhe’s behaving.
Not justkindly, either. He’s happy.
Delighted.
Attentive and adoring and considerate and…
Scaring me to death. Because who knows what all this luring into security is preparing me for?
Exhaustion plagues me as I shakily step onto what Malcolm’s promised will be thefinal ride for today. If I’m perfectly honest, I barely have the energy to care about all the germs that have been collected and confined in the large glass box that is a cabin on thisobservation wheel, AKA the ferris wheel’s uppity cousin. As I fall into one of the unclean seats, I find myself wishing death might take me if it’s not so keen on coming for Malcolm.
I so dearly wish I had brought my burner and could discreetly send Junction an ever-so-polite strongly worded text message. Pity I assumed having such a thing on me might prove somehow incriminating in the event I couldn’t convince the cops of my indifference and they insisted on searching my things.
“Tired?” Malcolm murmurs, tone amused, even though we’ve just been locked in this glass box about to go soaring high over the entire park. Sitting beside me instead of across from me, he tugs his accursed glove on.
I stiffen, ready for an unwelcome touch, but he merely opens up his pack, retrieves a Lysol wipe, and cleans the leather. It hurts to force down my swallows with every tight moment that passes.
Nothing harrowing takes place in the cramped space. Steadily, the cabins fill. Steadily, we rise higher and higher into the air—into thenight.
Last ride means going to the hotel after this.
Going to the hotel means spending an entire night mere feet from this monster.
Could I be so lucky as to contract something and die in my sleep?
Cutting my eyes toward Malcolm, I monitor my breaths as he waves his hand to dry his glove. His gray eyes—like twin moons—settle on me, delving beneath my flesh, into my heart and soul and mind. They glint.
I cave in on myself, bracing for the worst.
“Poor baby,” he coos, curling toward me, caging me against this side of the seat. His gloved hand pinches my chin and lifts my face. “You’ve done so well today.”
Voice thin, I whisper, “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
Nothing?Nothing?As if cornering me like this is nothing.
We’re mid-air now, securely so, dangling off the side of this egregiously large wheel. Alone. Together. In a locked space surrounded by the night sky as the stars above battle to be seen beyond the glimmer of the thriving park beneath.
“This doesn’t seem like nothing, sir.”
“Crow,” he corrects.
“Sir,” I bite.
His head shakes, and his thumb swipes along my jaw. “Stubborn, stubborn.” Predictably, his gaze falls on my lips, and panic sends my hands flying to his chest. Fingers spread, I rally to shove him away with all my might, but he doesn’t lean in. He says, “I’m not going to kiss you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t believe me? You don’t believe that I won’t do something you’d hate?”
